


The Way I've Always Done It.

by millygal



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Wooing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 12:57:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10697478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: How to woo the un-woo-able!





	The Way I've Always Done It.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angelus2hot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelus2hot/gifts).



> For: angelus2hot  
> Prompt: But that's the way I've always done it.  
> I do so hope you love this honey!! Also, thank you to my beta's stir_of_echoes and jj1564! wings128 ♥ Ladies I love you!

 

"Woo isn't exactly the word I'd use, not when the guy you're trying to _woo_ is over six feet tall and built like the side of an ammo dump!"

Rodney watches John worry at his bottom lip with his teeth and shakes his head. "Sheppard, I'm hardly the man to be giving you romantic advice, am I? What was it that made you think you should come to me, the truly spectacular attempt at sweeping Doctor Brown off her feet, or is it the fact I _still_ haven't plucked up the courage to actually kiss Jennifer?"

John can't help grinning at Rodney's bluntness when it comes to his relationship failures. Usually the scientist refuses to admit defeat in any arena, so coming out and saying he's got no clue about the fairer sex is a moment Sheppard will cherish, and possibly remind McKay of, often!

"Come on McKay, you're a problem solver, how in the hell do I sweep Chewie off his feet?!"

"Wrecking ball, battering ram, hell maybe even a couple of loose nukes. The man's un-sweepable!"

The look on John's face is almost worth the thwack to the back of the head he gets for being such a smart ass. "Look Sheppard, I know you think you need some great grand gesture to explain how you feel to Ronon, but he's not that kind of guy, is he? I mean he's strong and stoic and hits like a freight train off the rails, maybe just grab him and stick your tongue down his throat."

John's about to hit Rodney again when he has an idea that makes him smirk and squirm on the spot. Reaching out, McKay flinches away, but he takes a hold of his ears and plants a big wet sloppy kiss on his best friend's forehead. "McKay, you're a genius!"

Rodney watches John's ass disappear around the bend in the corridor and rolls his eyes. "Those two will be the death of me, I swear."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ronon's not exactly sure why but there's a nagging worry gnawing away at his insides. He's got butterflies in his stomach, which is bloody ridiculous because he's faced down whole armies of Wraith, why would John asking to meet him in the practice room make him want to run in the opposite direction?!

Perhaps it's the fact that any alone time with his CO is starting to give him a severe case of blue balls, or that his mouth waters at the thought of sinking his teeth into Sheppard's shoulder as he pounds into him against the Jumper Bay wall.

He's doomed, doomed to spend his entire life walking with a limp every time John bends over in front of him, or shoots that smug smirk and flicked eyebrow in his direction.

It's a cruel and unusual punishment that he's been stuck with a Commanding Officer who inspires nothing but sweaty palms and a permanently half hard cock.

If John were in any way inclined towards the same sex Ronon might just go for it, slam the gorgeous bastard up against the nearest flat surface and offer to ride him until his eyes rolled up, but he's pretty damned sure that Sheppard doesn't lean that way.

If he does he's managed to keep it very quiet.

Taking a deep breath and straightening his shoulders, Ronon strides towards the practice room. "Please don't let him be wearing his tightest gym pants. _Please!_ "

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John fidgets with his vest, tugging at the hem and picking imaginary lint from his chest. "Damn Sheppard, get a grip!"

At least he's not in full dress uniform, that would've been a nightmare. He's sweating like a bitch as it is, thank heavens for the 'practice room' setting. Least he can dress for the occasion!

John hears heavy purposeful foot falls and bites down on his bottom lip to stop himself from fleeing. "Suck it up buttercup. It's now or never."

Taking a quick inventory of the room he notes that the single candle he's lit is flickering in the non-existent breeze and wonders, not for the first time, if this place is still filled with something akin to the Ancient's souls.

Ronon's open palm hits the access panel and he finds himself hoping it'll refuse to work; electrical error would go down a treat right now. The door slides open and he's met with the sight of his CO standing in the middle of the room; blanket spread atop the mats, one candle with it's flame billowing towards the open door, and an array of food that Ronon's never seen before. "What the..."

The speech John had prep'd and ready to go disappears from his mind leaving him flailing for an explanation as to why he's invited Ronon to a seemingly very romantic evening in a stinky practice room filled with the remnants of other people's blood, sweat and spit.

In hindsight, maybe not the best approach to getting himself laid.

There's a moment of complete stillness, a look passes between the two men and then something in the air _pops_ , as if a bubble has suddenly burst.

The speed with which John launches himself at Ronon blows out the candle still flickering away to itself in the corner and there's a _thunk_ as Ronon's head makes contact with the now closed door.

Ronon's got arms full of growling Colonel and he's trying desperately not to rip the vest from his friend's chest because this _can't_ be happening. Not when he's spent the last six months doing everything he can to hide the huge erection tapping at his thigh every time John walks passed.

John blindly reaches out for the locking mechanism next to the door as he crushes his mouth against Ronon's plump, inviting, open lips.

Ronon slaps both palms down on John's bare shoulders and physically pushes him away. The look of disappointment on his friend's face is almost enough to crumple him on the spot but he has to ask, at least once, what the fuck is going on. "Sheppard?! Not that your tongue in my mouth isn't the most delicious thing I've ever tasted but what the hell is going on?"

The blood rapidly racing from his failing neurons to regions lower and way more fun isn't helping with cognitive thought, but John raises his eyebrow and tilts his head before sliding his hands along the line of Ronon's ribs. "What do you think, Chewie? I had this whole explanation set, and a reasoned argument as to why we're meant to be, but I realised whilst you were standing there staring at me like I'd grown a second head, the way I usually do things isn't gonna cut it with you."

Ronon smirks and allows the full body shiver building at the base of his spine to take over before reaching out and cupping John's cheek. "You do realise you're a giant pain in my ass, right?"

"That's the plan!"

Chuckling and leaning his forehead against Sheppard's, Ronon allows the truth of the situation to shine from his eyes. "I've been imagining your beautiful pink lips spit slicked and split around my cock for the last six fucking months, John. And you're telling me you wanted me all along? You fucking bastard!"

John grins at his best friend and shrugs before slipping a hand below the waistband of Ronon's pants, wrapping rough fingers around granite hard heat. "Sorry 'bout that."

Ronon bucks his hips, fucking himself into John's palm, and groans before scrabbling to untie the laces on his pants. "You will be!"

John's lost all sense of time, all notion of where and when and how. The only thing he can focus on is the weight of Ronon's impressive cock resting against his fingers. Foreign flesh that feels so familiar already he thinks the imprint of it will last forever. Burned into his palm like a brand, a filthy perfect brand. "Clothes, too many clothes."

They stumble into the middle of the room, wrapped around and in each other. Plates of food go flying, feet crushing delicate looking morsels of perfection. "There goes my wonderful 'picnic' plans."

Ronon slips two fingers through the belt loops in John's gym pants and slides them slowly down his muscular thighs, admiring the weeping tip of his cock; pink and perfect and mouth wateringly inviting. It's twitching, flexing every time Sheppard breathes, seemingly tapping out a rhythm that repeats Ronon's name over and over again. "It won't go to waste, John."

The smug smile curving Ronon's lips gives John a moment of pure pleasure. He thinks if the warrior before him were to run a ragged fingernail down the side of his aching shaft he'd come on the spot. No preamble just an explosion of want that's been building for months and months. "Why do I think we're going to need a shower later?"

"Because you're a very perceptive man."

John allows Ronon to spin him and urge him to his knees. Pants still tangled around his ankles, Sheppard slams his palms flat on the floor and pushes his pert ass into the air, wiggling it slightly, knowing Ronon will be barely able to keep from raking his nails down both cheeks.

Ronon scans the floor for something they can use when his eyes land on a crushed cream filled concoction and chuckles. "This might be a little cold, Sheppard, brace yourself."

John's so not even going to ask, just wait and hold his breath because he's about to get something he's wanted for a very long time; Ronon above him, inside him, surrounding him in every way he can imagine!

Ronon scoops cream onto his fingers and slides them between John's cheeks, allowing his nail to snag none too gently against the twitching ring of tight muscles nestled between them.

John's moan is _guttural_.

There's a burning pressure building at the base of his spine and it's not going to take much to shove him off the edge of everything. Ronon's thick fingers working their way inside his trembling body push all thought of any thing other than feeling his fat cock fucking up into him from Sheppard's mind and he practically mewls in anticipation of it.

Ronon's fighting hard not to just piston his fingers, roughly opening John up to him, because the first time they do this he wants it to be a memory that makes John smile like an idiot, not wince and limp away.

Ronon's cock is slapping violently against his belly as he crooks his fingers and rotates his wrist. The thick droplet of pre-come that's been balancing at the tip finally dribbles down the side of his shaft and he's practically cross eyed from keeping his free hand off his aching dick.

John can sense the fierce need in Ronon from the hitch in his breathing, the stuttering movement of his fingers, still buried deep in his ass, and he can't take the anticipation any more. "Please, Ronon _please_!"

Whip crack fast, Ronon removes his fingers and replaces them with the tip of his cock. Stilling for a moment he allows the image before him to burn itself into his memory.

John on his hands and knees, back almost supine in an effort to gain more purchase against the flesh pressing gently against his twitching hole, moaning Ronon's name and swaying on the spot.

John growls and slams himself backwards, giving Ronon no choice but to dig his nails into Sheppard's hips and hold on tight. "RONON!"

"Easy, Sheppard!"

Nails biting deep, leaving little half moon marks in soft skin, Ronon slides forward, flicking his hips just enough to breach John's loosened muscles. The sense of home that surrounds him is both beautiful and bloody disconcerting. Have they been dancing around this for so long when the answer to each of their problems was right there, staring them in the face? What a waste of time and chance.

The feeling of fullness blooming inside John isn't just a physical characteristic of being pinioned by a man the size of a mountain. It's actually something akin to, _'Finally'_ , and a deep cleansing breath of fresh air filling his lungs. His head spins with it, his chest aches to be pounded like a Cave Man who's downed his first kill. It's mesmerising knowing that all it takes is two people on the same wave length to figure out how the world is _meant_ to work. It's all spinning in the right direction and Sheppard's not sure he can handle the implications of being happy. It's been a very long time since that word applied to anything in his private life.

The moment of silence and contentment soon passes as the driving need to move takes over. It's animalistic in it's intensity, primal, something buried deep inside the pair of them, covered over by centuries of civilisation and sticking out your pinky when you drink a cup of tea.

There's nothing civilised about the sounds emanating from the man beneath Ronon. The violent grunts and pants floating into the air around them have the Satedan grasping so hard at the hips stuttering in front of him he manages to draw blood.

John hisses, but it's a good hiss, a hiss that means, **yes - mine** , and he suddenly understands what it is to be owned. Not like cattle, not  to be handed off like a thing but to belong, to _really_ belong!

Ronon watches the sweat gather at the base of John's spine and he finds himself leaning forward, no real instruction from his sluggishly firing brain cells, a simple natural instinctive act that brings the tip of his tongue flat against the dip in John's lower back. He tastes delicious, like warm pancakes with maple syrup. Sweet and smooth and perfect.

Wrapping a strong arm around John's chest Ronon drags him backwards, settles himself on his heels and nestles the curve of Sheppard's ass into his lap.

John allows Ronon to manhandle him, the shift in position adds a weight to the friction now driving him insane. The not so subtle shunts of Ronon's hips bring John onto the balls of his feet, legs splayed awkwardly around the strong legs supporting him. The pants still tangled around his ankles mean he can't move without Ronon growling in his ear.

It's a mess of grappling, grasping hands, limbs entwined so tightly that neither of them knows where the one ends and other begins.

It's curled around each other like this that John comes. Violent spasms forcing his release from his body with a fierceness that rips his breath away, leaving him spent and panting; Head spinning, eyes rolling, lips bitten red raw from trying to contain the cries of ecstasy.

Ronon feels John's muscles squeeze around his still pulsing shaft and there's nothing he can do to drag himself off the ledge. Wild horses couldn't stop Ronon from coming, couldn't distract from the feel of his own release dripping from John's satiated body and onto his quivering thighs.

A moment's pause and then John slumps backwards, head resting against the line of Ronon's collarbone.

They stay this way for what seems like hours, just taking in the shift in their relationship.

Debriefings are certainly going to be _lots_ of fun from now on.


End file.
